Secrets and Lies
by Somnambulista
Summary: Veronica's got a secret - and it's in the form of Lamb. How can she manage her affairs while the drama piles up, and what will she do when all of her dirty little secrets come screaming to the surface? Veronica x Lamb; takes place during season 2.
1. The Road Home

I did not create any of these characters. This takes place after season one, during the senior high school year. This is written under the pretenses that the crash did not happen, so some of the events are different. Read, review, and send love!

01

The game they played was disgusting. It made Veronica's life so hard, so unbelievably hard. She was lying, and it wasn't just her little white lies she normally told to get jobs done. No. She was lying to everyone. Duncan. Her father. _Logan_. God, Logan. She paused by her car, putting her hand on the roof of it as she slid the key into the door. She closed her eyes and slid her hand off of the car, reaching up to her light black jacket and clutching it closed just above her breasts, the chill of the night air making the skin exposed by her sheer camisole prickle. The small warmth was not comforting; not as comforting as the warmth in her vivid memory of Don's finger dragging lightly down her sternum only hours before.

A shudder of a breath brought her back to the present. It was pre-dawn, cold, and she was alone on the street in front of Don Lamb's house. December in Neptune was strange – it was still temperate enough during the day to get away with a hooded sweatshirt, but at night, when the marine layer swept in off of the coast, it could drop into the fifties. It wasn't the actual temperature that made her cold, though. It was that guilt washing over her. The drive home from his house was always the time where it actually hit her: how much of her day-to-day life was an act. It was stupid for her to even have her car this close to his house, but two of the houses in his neighborhood had just sold, and the other neighbors were away for Christmas vacation. He'd told her to park it there; he didn't like her having to walk two blocks to the beach parking lot. He couldn't watch her, couldn't see her leave safely, and after everything that had happened, he didn't like the idea of her just walking off into the night and being the last one to see her alive – especially because he wouldn't be able to even admit it.

He didn't have to say that last part to her for her to be able to put two and two together. If she left and someone grabbed her, her time line would stop sometime in the early evening, and eventually they'd trace it back to him. He couldn't afford that sort of publicity, nevermind the fact that she wasn't eighteen yet. She would be very soon, but even still, they'd trace events backward and it would all come out. All of that made it sound like he didn't care, and that wasn't true, but the timing was just wrong, and she was grown up enough to know that.

She turned the key counter-clockwise and glanced over her shoulder, biting on her lower lip. She could see the white gauzy curtain over the bay window flutter a little, and a dark form move from left to right. He was watching her; no doubt the shower was already running, steam billowing out of the half-opened door. She didn't see _him_ exactly, but she knew that he was still there. She turned back around and climbed into the car, her eyes welling up with tears.

As she drove home, she cried her eyes out. She did it every time. She alternated between feeling untouchable because of the idea that she lead a completely double life, and feeling like a disgusting whore because of the boys that she was effectively juggling. Duncan, Logan, Leo, now Don? She didn't have a second to herself to sort out her feelings. It was always Lilly's case or a job or her dad or her mother or -

"FUCK!" she screamed. This was routine. Get to the second light outside of the subdivision and the yelling started. She had another mile before she'd be crying so hard that she'd need to pull over in the parking lot of the small gas station. It was the only gas station that was closed at midnight and didn't reopen until five in the morning, so she always left right before then. Nobody ever saw her. She was a ghost.

She got home around five-thirty in the morning. Sunrise officially began at quarter til five, so by the time she got home it was already bright enough outside for her to see, and to be seen. She walked briskly to her apartment, shoulders hunched and head down, arms folded beneath her breasts as tightly as she could. Her head was pounding from dehydration and sinus pressure now, from crying and from sex. Her physical and emotional rollercoaster was summed up perfectly by her nightly activities. Everything was fine, and then everything was so good, and then everything came crashing down. Then, she'd go to sleep and wake up and do it all over again.

Christmas break was good for a lot of different reasons, and one of which meant that she could sleep in until noon. Her father was out of town for a few days chasing down a bail jumper, so it was just she and Backup. Now that Lilly's murder had been solved, finally, she had a new bag of tricks to sort out. She'd broken up with Duncan because she hated the idea of causing Meg the continued heartache of having to raise a child without the father. She spent time with Logan often, but the way he _looked_ at her made her want to scream. It was in his eyes, that sort of dependency that she couldn't _handle_. He cared so much that sometimes she thought it physically hurt him. It wasn't exactly something she could bring up, though.

She showered, and it was cold. The pipes had begun to act up again, and this morning she felt like she needed to punish herself. She brushed her teeth after, and then let the sink fill with water and stuck her head down into it. She screamed in the water, the sound strange and muffled and aquatic. When she straightened back up, she blotted her face with a towel and wrapped herself in her fuzzy moon and stars bathrobe. Veronica walked into the living room for a moment, just to see the Christmas tree lit up. The lights made her feel more innocent somehow, took her back to a time when she didn't worry so much about everything.

She didn't dream much these days. Her life had become such a blur of motion and sound and violence, that sleep was her only _real_ release. There were a few instances where she would rent a car over a long weekend that way she wouldn't blow her cover, and then park it between the property lines of his neighbor's houses so everyone thought that whoever she was, she was a guest of the other person. He gave her a key to the padlock on the gate, but the back sliding glass door was always open. She'd disrobe and crawl into bed, since he usually worked late anyways. The feeling that Veronica felt when he would come in and try to get out of his uniform and shower without waking her up (even though he would undoubtedly every time) was indescribable. It was a sense of wholeness that she didn't feel with... anyone else.

She'd always been independent, but this gave her a different sort of sensation. She didn't fool herself into thinking he loved her, or even that he cared about her. The way they played the hate game was too real, even to her. The sexual tension was just a side effect, but the truth of the matter was that she thought he only enjoyed the affair _because_ of the hate. If he knew Veronica cared at all, she'd be thrown away with little more than a crass parting word, and she could bet that he'd step the cruelty up in public to punish her.

Veronica awoke around ten AM to the sound of her phone ringing, and slapped at the cord to her alarm clock a few times to pull it off of the shelf before the realized it. She grabbed her cell from the pile of blankets it had become buried in, only to widen her tired, road-mapped eyes in surprise as she saw the caller ID reading 'Peking Takeout'. That was _Don's_ number, or at least, how she'd entered it into her phone. She didn't want anyone picking it up and just thumbing through her number list to see 'Don Lamb' right out there, not that anyone should be going through her phone in the first place – but she knew how tricky people were. She was one of those types of people. Peking Takeout wasn't even a real place, but nobody knew that, either. There were so many different Chinese restaurants just in Neptune alone that the only way anyone would figure it out was if they dialed it. Veronica was pretty smart about deleting messages and calls out of the log, but she was careful of where she left her phone, all the same.

She realized she was still holding this white ringing thing in her hand while she stared at it, half-awake, and snapped back into reality. She held it up to her ear, doing nothing to mask the exhaustion in her voice.

"Yes?" she asked.

There was a little chuckle at the other end of the line. "Please, please do not tell me you just woke up," Don said.

Veronica smiled and rolled over, tugging the blanket over her shoulder to ward off the cold. "I'd still be asleep if I had the good sense to turn my phone _off_ for once in my life," she countered. She always felt a little nervous when he called, since he did so very rarely during the day. She was waiting for him to break it off, and even though she played the good role of being very secure, the act did nothing for her nerves those initial ten seconds of conversation. This time, she was lucky, and she was so tired that she couldn't _get_ nervous.

"Yes, but then what would you do when someone needed you to break into a random house or office building and steal information?" he asked, that playful tone in his voice. It was still strange to hear the same things he'd say to her in front of others, only without the malicious intent behind them. If it was still there, he was a better actor than she gave him credit for.

"Have you forgotten? High school? Winter vacation? Come _on_, it's this and then _nothing_ until Spring Break in _March_. Could you cut me a little slack here?" she whined. On the floor beside the bed, Backup yawned very loudly and rolled over to reposition himself.

From inside his personal vehicle, a brand new black 2005 Dodge Ram SRT-10, Don rolled his eyes so loudly that the person in the lane next to him at the light could have heard him. Of course he hadn't forgotten she was in high school. He tried, very hard in fact, but it was very difficult when he came home during the week and she wasn't curled up in the bed, more on his side than hers. That's how he knew she was actually asleep. When she was faking, she was usually on the other side of the bed – he would bet any amount of money she did not know that he knew these small facts, because he was quiet when he came in despite the knowledge. It just tickled him to know that he had one up on her at something.

"Nnnnoooo," he trailed, the slightest hint of irritation to his voice. This wasn't something he liked talking about, even if it was in jest. "Look. You know I don't like the reminder, and if I pick a fight that will completely defeat the purpose for my call," he informed her sternly. He wasn't _that_ much older than her – ten years wasn't so bad. Kendall Casablancas was twenty years younger than her husband... although, she was the typical trophy-type gold-digger, so he didn't like the fact that _that_ was how he tried to justify this.

"Okay, fine, fine," she said, shifting around in bed. "So what's the story, morning glory?"

"Well, it's Friday," he began. The light had turned green and was driving again, passenger window half cracked so that he didn't heat himself out of the truck. The temperature was low that day, and he'd found the perfect balance between the heater setting and a nice, small breeze so that he didn't melt – or freeze.

"And I was thinking that since your dad won't be home for a few more days, you can get up and we can go somewhere for the weekend. I'm out early today – the town is dead. Everyone is gone, and there is nothing at that office that I need to do that would have taken me all day to accomplish. I went in after you left this morning and knocked out the paperwork I needed to."

He paused. Why was he even doing this, again? When had it actually become something that he looked forward to? Don knew that he was attractive, and Neptune was not short of beautiful, privileged women who could appreciate his authority in more ways than one, so why was it that he was sneaking off into the dark with Veronica?

"Ooh," she replied. It already sounded like a negative response, based on her tone, but he let her finish. "I had four hours of sleep, and when I decide to actually get out of bed, I sort of told Trina that I'd dig up some dirt on a guy that's been trying to get her out on a date. After her last boyfriend turned out to be a tool, I kind of feel obligated to help any way I can," she admitted.

Right – that's why. The girl was smart, and tenacious. Sometimes she did stupid things, but she was the most intelligent person he'd ever met, shy of her father. He made something that sounded akin to a grunt, and flicked on his blinker to turn right, guiding the large truck along. "If you must," he said, a wistful sigh punctuating his disappointment.

Veronica couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "Besides," she said, a logical tone to her voice, "isn't it about fifteen or so hours too early for me to be coming around there?"

"Oh, but you declined before you even heard the full offer," he teased.

"Well, tell me and I'll see if it's worth my while to get up right now," Veronica said slyly.

"You can have your Christmas present early," he offered.

Veronica mock-gasped. "Why, Mister Sheriff, are you trying to _bribe_ me? You know I'm just happy to be on the right side of the interrogation glass," she teased back. In truth, she hadn't even expected him to get her anything. "You didn't get me a certain... _item_ that can be found in a box, one that YouTube made famous, did you?"

He laughed out loud at that notion. It had been such an unexpected reference he nearly dropped his phone as he pulled into his driveway. "But you've already had that," he reminded her. "I'm serious. Bring your laptop, you can just do whatever you need to over here, and then we can get on with the weekend. If you're tired, you can take a nap."

Veronica had to consider this. She had been planning to go over to the hotel to see Logan and Trina. Now that she'd found out who her birth mother was, she – well, she wasn't any less melodramatic or cruel, but she certainly had taken the focus off of Logan. She also didn't like Kendall, which endeared her to Veronica somewhat. And she wanted to see Logan, honestly, because she had missed the way he smiled so sweetly at her. The boy who Veronica was convinced couldn't do a genuine thing in his life, and he actually made her stomach get butterflies with that smile. Of course, Lamb had found a way to make her pulse race and heart thunder so roughly in her chest that she was short of breath with a smile, too, but it was a different type of smile.

Yeah, she shouldn't have let her mind go there, but now it had. "I'll have you know that the prospect of a present makes me curious, but it's not the reason I'm agreeing to do this," she warned him. "It's because the idea of you with nothing but a festive ribbon on has somehow made the last chance I had of going back to sleep suddenly slip away. I'll see you in an hour," she said.

"Oh, before I forget – there's a garage door opener in your center console. The guys came by and fixed it while I was at work. You can park your car in there if you get tired of walking two blocks to retrieve it," he offered.

"Nn – no can do, sheriff," she said, sitting up. Now that she was coherent, her mind was back to its usual 150MPH competition rally race through the wilderness of her brain. "There's no way I can get in and out of that quietly. But," she added, before he cut her off, "it will be useful in the unlikely event of an emergency – or you forget to leave the back door unlocked."

"Suit yourself," he said. He hadn't actually even been thinking beyond the whole, not walking so far to her car aspect of the benefits of using the garage, but she made a good point. He didn't want to admit it, so he wouldn't, and he'd just tell her to do whatever, knowing she would anyways. It felt better if he told her, though, because then it was like he had some say in the matter, which he knew he absolutely did not.

"See you in an hour," she said, hanging up before he could get any further with his well-planned ideas. She set the phone down and flopped back against her pillows, trying to collect her thoughts. She was suspicious, of course, because he never called her: during the day, during a week-day, and especially in the mornings; also because he never spent any sort of time with her aside from the usual roll in the hay and perhaps some cuddling before or after.

"What are you up to, Lamby-kins?" she asked, to nobody in particular, her bright blue eyes narrowed at her phone. She sat there for a few minutes, and when she began to nod off, she shook her head violently back and forth.

"Well, guess I'd better go get all beautiful," she muttered. She pushed off of the bed and headed for another dose of the ol' frozen ice-water shower. That ought to keep her invigorated long enough to get there, and maybe get through one session of show-and-tell.


	2. Bad Decisions

I did not create any of these characters. This takes place after season one, during the senior high school year. This is written under the pretenses that the crash did not happen, so some of the events are different. Read, review, and send love! Also, this chapter is rated NC-17. CONTAINS THE SEXY TIME!

02

Don had a nice house. The town had been good to him, even if he'd done things he wasn't proud of necessarily to get where he was now. He could look back a few years and see where the changes had started, but he couldn't pinpoint anything that had caused them. He just knew that gradually, he'd become harder and more proud, to the point now where he was terrible to the people who could have been his greatest allies simply for the fact that he couldn't explain a sudden 'change of heart'. He'd made a mess and he didn't know how to clean it up. Part of him didn't even want to change; honestly, as a child he'd been weak. His father had beaten the living snot out of him until he was old enough to hit back, and that hadn't gone very well – there were records on it, of course, but Lamb had made sure that Keith Mars would never have access to them. The only copies he knew of he'd paid very dearly for, and he'd destroyed them as soon as he had the enmity of the resourceful PI and his equally resourceful daughter.

He picked up a few random items around, discarding the daily mail into the growing pile on the counter in his kitchen. He supposed he should go through it eventually, and since he didn't fully trust Veronica around any personal documents, he dropped down into one of the wooden kitchen chairs with a sigh and began sorting. There was a pile for junk mail and a pile for bills, and once the envelopes were in their proper piles, the junk went into the trash that he took out, and the bills made their journey to the desk and were placed in a locked drawer for safekeeping. Most of his accounts were drafted from automatically, but he liked to be able to have a copy – just in case.

He hadn't ever been the neatest man in the world, but when Veronica had started coming around, he had to change a few things in his routine. His shoes were now actually placed in a designated area in his room as opposed to landing wherever after he would just throw them. Veronica had a tendency to wake up frequently during the times when she did sleep, and he didn't want her tripping over one. He'd never be able to get a good enough explanation for why she had to go to the ER at three AM for stitches, and he hated having to face the fact that he'd never be able to take her to the hospital himself.

His bathroom had also become much tidier. Having a female over made men do all sorts of unnatural things, and Don had found that the best way to make sure his bathroom was never bad enough to run Veronica off was to clean it _every day_. It sucked, but it had to be done – and honestly, just wiping the counter and mirror down and cleaning his shaving area up took four minutes, which was better than the twenty it took if he let it sit. He'd also become good at handling soap scum, too, which he didn't think Veronica actually would ever notice or care about, but the fact that he did it spoke volumes.

It was too bad that she didn't know any of this.

Don still wasn't sure what he was doing, with any of this. Veronica wasn't even legal yet, and worse, she was the daughter of the man who basically would take any chance to put Lamb in the ugly corner office with no windows. It wouldn't be completely undeserved, especially since they'd found Lilly's killer, but still, Lamb didn't want to let go of the power. He supposed he'd always thought Veronica was attractive (hot would have been too juvenile a word), but they hated eachother like two junkyard dogs fighting for territory. The sexual tension had only started in the last year, but it had escalated to something else over the last few months.

It had started when Veronica had gone looking for more information about the plastic surgeon that she claimed had wrongfully accused Logan of Felix's murder. The Fitzpatricks had not taken her intrusion well, and they'd decided that someone had to teach her a lesson. Of course, Lamb had only found this out _after_ the fact, and honestly, even if she'd told him he couldn't confirm as to whether or not he'd have believed her, which didn't make him proud, but it made him honest. He was just sorry that it took her putting a bullet in someone to shift his perspective a little. One of them had caught her alone, and put a gun to her head. She'd gotten it away from him somehow, and she shot him clean through chest.

It had fucked her up in the head – everyone could see that. Between Duncan drifting to Meg and the baby, and Logan's constant troubles with the law, not to mention Aaron Echolls being determined to make her life a living hell from jail however he could, Veronica seemed to be riding the mental breakdown train. Now, Don had never _seen_ her lose it, but it was the only reason he could come up with for why she was doing this. This, of course, being engaging in a physical relationship with him, one that was sometimes rough enough to reflect a sliver of the things she was dealing with in that head of hers. Don didn't ask, and he wouldn't until he saw a reason to. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off.

She was a strong girl; stronger than Don had given her credit for, initially. Now that he was seeing the other side of things, he realized how much he'd missed between their snapping at eachother and baring their teeth. He was a damned good judge of character, and the more time she spent there told him more than she could when she spoke, as long as he knew what to look for. For instance, he knew that Veronica was essentially waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to pretend she didn't exist. Why she'd ever gotten it into her head that she wasn't ever good enough for any man, he wouldn't know. Actually, no, that wasn't fair – he knew _why_ she thought that way, he just wished he could make her realize it wasn't true. She thought inside the 09 zip code when she seemed to take regard to herself, and he hated it. He could see it in her eyes.

He also knew that as much as she said she didn't dream when she slept, it was simply that she didn't _remember_ dreaming. She was expressive, even in sleep, and sometimes he'd woken up on account of her making noises and thrashing around in her sleep. It made his chest hurt in a strange and unfamiliar way when he thought of what she could be dreaming. More than likely, her mind replayed the shooting over and over. The first time he'd ever killed someone, it had taken two years to quiet his head down, but he'd been ready for it. Veronica... she shouldn't have even had to consider it.

He didn't know how much their physical relationship was making her hate herself; or if not hate, than certainly it confused the living shit out of her. It confused him, too, but like Veronica, he had to lead a very intense dual life, one that was subject to slightly more scrutiny than hers was. They had one argument that had almost brought this issue out into the light, but Lamb, uncharacteristically, _refused_ to argue with her when she was at his home. He just wouldn't indulge her destructive nature. The sex they had was passionate because of the hate that was always brewing between them, but he could see the frailty she had fallen into and he didn't want to push her any more than what would be stirred up throughout the week.

If he'd known that she cried every night when she left, it might have actually hurt him. To his knowledge, she did not attribute any pain that was more than reasonable to him directly, and if he had even the slightest inclining that she felt like she were a dirty, disgusting whore, he'd have had a _lot_ to say about it.

There was a noise on the other side of his house, and he looked up into the bathroom mirror. Briskly, the paper towel he had with Windex on it was swirled around on the glass, and then discarded into the trash can. He walked out to the kitchen to see the girl of the hour stepping quietly through the opening in the sliding glass door. She turned and closed it behind her, then flicked her finger and clicked the lock down. She turned back towards him and smiled, and it was an exhausted sort of smile that clearly told him she wouldn't make it very long that day.

"Hey, you," she said softly. She didn't make any move towards him just then, instead watching him with those big baby-blue eyes of hers. She wanted to see if he'd approach her first, since more often than not they weren't put into situations that required a lot of small talk (where they weren't trying to snipe eachother, anyways).

He was still dressed, though she could tell from his appearance that he'd been working on fixing that and had gotten distracted. He always seemed to do that when he was home, like he just shut part of his brain down temporarily so that he didn't lose his marbles. His shoes were off, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned from his trousers, revealing the white undershirt beneath. His weapon was already in the safe, and his belt was undone. Yes, he'd definitely gotten side-tracked. Veronica knew he was a little bit obsessed with his appearance at work – obviously.

Just as she was about to stop trying to see if he'd come to her or of she'd be the pet that came, he stepped forward. The distance between them hadn't been large, and his legs were long enough to place him there quickly. He bent down and planted a soft kiss on her lips, one Veronica was unfamiliar with (though it could have been her sleep deprivation) and smiled to her, still with his nose nearly touching her own.

"Wow, I must have done something right," she said with a laugh. Her smile met her eyes, truly, something he did not see often enough from her. She pulled away from him though, passing him and shedding her coat simultaneously. She rested it on the back of one of those wooden kitchen chairs, and then leaned against the fridge. "Listen, I'll be honest. I'm interested in whatever you have planned for this weekend, but first I _need_ to get a few more hours of sleep. I almost passed out on the way over here and rear-ended some old lady in a minivan. Thank god the brakes on my car are new, or I'd be explaining quite a bit right now to my father."

Don frowned at the notion of her smashing the front of her car on her way to see him, for multiple reasons. "Okay, then, Little Bit, let's get to bed with thee," he said, a smile breaking on his handsome face. He didn't know why the prospect of being able to just wrap up with her in his arms and take a nap was suddenly so appealing, but he attributed some of it to the fact that she was so utterly adorable when she was this tired.

Veronica's smile was small, but real. That was two he'd been awarded thus far; he was doing pretty good. It was the Little Bit remark, he knew. He had to be careful when he used that name for her. He could only time it when she was in just the right mood, or else she'd just say something biting back to him. She didn't seem to understand that it was a term of great endearment. In truth, she knew quite well that it was important enough to him that he didn't say it all the time, but sometimes when he did say it, it just confused her and made her believe that this was something that would go somewhere, when she knew that it was clearly a wild, forbidden tryst.

She walked down the hall to his bedroom after setting her shoes by the couch, enjoying how the carpet felt on her toes. She could do this walk blind, and in fact, she'd done it several times while being in pitch darkness. Lamb didn't sleep with _any_ shred of light in his room, and aside from the dull glow off of the microwave clock in his kitchen to light her initial trek through the house, Veronica had been forced to learn by trial and error. The error, of course, was every random bruise she'd gotten from various furniture fixtures she'd rammed into while trying to navigate.

Veronica sat down on the bed, and for a moment her gaze drifted off to some spot on the wall. She had been drifting more and more often; he'd remembered her telling him once it was the only time her mind could stop and take a break, and he truly believed her. He slowly pulled off the tan uniform shirt he wore, and suddenly he found her to be as attentive as ever. She put her hands down on the bed and slid backwards 'til she was resting against the headboard, pillows arranged behind her. She had an incredibly interested look to her eyes, brows lofted in what could only be described as a pleasant sort of expectation.

"Still tired?" he asked, giving her a less than pure smile.

Veronica tilted her head to the left a tic, and then nodded once. "Incredibly. Although, I can only be sure if you come closer," she explained, her brows furrowing as she attempted to look pensive.

"Ah," he acknowledged knowingly. He took his pants off, an ungraceful thing to be sure (because men could not be sexy and remove pants unless they wanted to dance, and he wasn't dancing), and then slowly removed his shirt. He was making a production about the shirt because he knew his upper body drove Veronica wild – or, at least, she always seemed to indicate it did by her groping and kissing. He behaved by putting his clothing in the laundry basket, and then fell onto the bed on his stomach, making a soft groaning noise as he relaxed.

Veronica puckered her lips a little, trying to decide just _how_ tired she was. He was convincing her that she might not be as worn out as she said she was, but in truth her eyes were utterly burning. She ignored that sensation in favour of reaching out to Don with her right hand. She slid her index finger beneath the elastic seam of his boxer-briefs and drew it back quickly, releasing it by curling her finger. The material snapped at his waistline, and he flopped his head from one side of his cheek to the other to offer her a stern glare.

"Listen here," he said. "You do that to me again, and I'll do it back," he threatened.

She grinned a little. "Oh? Because, you know, usually when you put your hands anywhere near my undies, you're not looking to remove them so quickly."

He stared at her for a good long minute. "You're correct," he finally said. He smiled at her again. God, she was beautiful. Why had it taken him so long to get around to... this? Of course, this wasn't ideal. They'd never be able to walk in public together or hold hands or exchange kisses in the hallways of the department. He must have looked like he was in another galaxy by the way that she leaned forward, which brought him back down to earth.

She'd slid down onto her side until her face was even with his, and rested on her arm, slightly propped up. Her feet stopped somewhere around the shin area with their legs stretched the same. It was ridiculous how small she was compared to him, but it seemed to make the sex more enjoyable in some ways. Veronica had to admit, being so closed to him that she could feel his body heat, she was slightly aroused. Not enough to flip him over and hop on like he was some nickle pony outside of the grocery store, but she could be persuaded to if their conversation kept going in the same direction.

Wordlessly, Veronica undid the button fly on her pants, and then slowly pushed them down 'til they met her ankles, causing her to sit up momentarily. She pulled the simple black sweater she'd had on over her face, and then threw it at the closed closet door near her side of the room. Now exposed in the black bra and undies he wore, she felt a chill from the sudden temperature change, and reached for the blankets.

"No you don't," he said. He reached out with an arm before she could tug a big enough section of the blankets out from under his dead-weighted form, wrapping it around her. She slid easily, thanks to the satiny material that covered her lower half, which meant she had less time to put up a fight. Lamb adjusted his position so that he was behind her, and dropped several small kisses in her shoulder.

"You're not getting away from my advances _that_ easily," he informed her. His hands slid from her midsection down to her hips. He loved how angular and boney they were, how fragile they felt beneath his large hands. He loved how he could feel her warming while pressed against him, and the contact of skin on skin sent a small chill up his spine.

Veronica laughed, and then let out what he would have described as a contented sigh. "Are we really going to nap?" she asked him, looking back at what she could see of him without rolling over.

"That depends on you," he responded. He'd stopped kissing her for the moment. When it came to determining Veronica's willingness to have sex with him, he rarely initiated contact. He acted like he needed a permission slip to do so, but it was only because he didn't want her to feel pressured. Considering Veronica was worried he'd just cut her loose one day, she didn't really know how much he took her feelings into account.

Veronica rolled over then, and stared directly into his eyes. He smiled at her, reaching up to put his hand on her chin, which he did ever so lightly. "Hey," she said softly. That worked fairly often for Veronica – that was almost like her signal. She didn't know how it came to be that way, and neither did he, but it got a reaction out of him every time. Like clockwork, he leaned forward abruptly and kissed her. She opened her mouth a little, controlling the pace of the kisses for the moment. This was usually how it worked when she was on the fence; a little coaxing and she'd come around.

Veronica sat up suddenly and moved back, then yanked the blankets up as much as she could, crawling under them. She rolled onto her back, her head turning as she drew her focus to Don again. She held up one finger and motioned for him to come closer, which he obliged by pressing his upper body against hers, while his left leg twined with her own. She wrapped her arms around him and the kissing began anew, but this time with more passion than it had before.

He withdrew from her mouth and began trailing kisses down her jaw and neck area, causing her to make a soft, pleased moaning sound. He wrapped his arms around her waist again, pulling her up into a raised position, and then skillfully unsnapped her bra. He slid it off of her slowly, then tugged the blankets back up to his shoulders. He effectively covered her, which was routine, because she got cold so easily in the house when she was unclothed – which, of course, was natural.

They continued kissing, hands wandering and groping eachother for quite some time. Veronica honestly hated Lamb for how he made her feel. He confused her, he made her feel like this was _real_ and not some stupid sick game they were playing at. After all of the horrible things he'd said to her, and she was _here_, in bed with him. She felt a rush of anger hit her, but instead of pushing him away, she dug her fingers into his back, pulling him down more aggressively. She maneuvered herself so that he had no choice but to climb on top of her more fully, and then reached down, and with a solid yank had gotten his undergarments to his bent knees.

She could see the shocked look on his face for about a half second, but he recovered. "So you're _not_ tired?" he asked incredulously. She stuck her hand out to the lamp by the bed and switched it off, plunging them into darkness. She didn't want him to see her face; she couldn't hide her expressions like he could, not right now. She was teetering between mild lunacy and wanting to break apart into a thousand pieces, but the only release she knew was the one she was aiming for, even if it was just temporary bullshit to shut her brain up.

"Donnie," she said, her voice soft, but strained. She couldn't mask the raising energy, though he mistook her fear for passion. "No small talk, okay? I just want you right now," she told him.

Contrary to Veronica's belief, he could clearly tell the difference between her inflections when she spoke. The fear in her voice made it pitched higher, almost sharp, and kittenish. She wasn't trying to be seductive with that tone, even if it was laced with the husk of being physically aroused. The problem was that he didn't really piece together that she was scared of _him_, or at least, the relationship they had cultivated, regardless of how physical it was. Even he had to admit that it wouldn't have been half as intense if it hadn't been based around so much animosity, but his feelings came from a different part of him; not the dark place hers did.

Regardless of how she said it, if she was telling him that she wanted him, then he was going to oblige her. The undergarments were completely removed on his end, and as she went to pull her own off, he stopped her. With his hands over her own, he slowly, carefully, and gently moved down her thighs, then calves, and finally slipped lightly over her ankles. He tossed them towards the pile where he knew her clothes to be, and fell back on top of her, finding her mouth with ease and offering up more kissing. She arched her back slightly, causing her hips to thrust into his in the middle of a particularly deep smooth. He had to break away for a split second to breathe, because he was literally so turned on that he thought he might lose his mind.

Veronica could tell how crazy she was driving him by his breathing, and confirmed with her small hand pressed against his chest, above his heart. She couldn't see him, but by the feel of his movements, she could tell that he'd looked down at her hand, and then after a pause, he placed his own over hers.

_Oh God, what the fuck am I doing?_ she asked herself. She wanted to cry, and almost felt a surge of tears coming on. This was the man who hadn't believed her when she thought she'd been raped – even though it had all turned out in the end (though you couldn't really TURN OUT that situation, it just happened that she'd slept with someone whom she'd cared about so much at the time that she let it go). He'd blocked her every step of the way every chance he could, tearing her down to the point of tears more than she could care to remember. And yet, here she was, beneath him with her hand pressed to his chest like a fucking child.

He crooked his chin down, drawing her hand up and giving her palm a light kiss before lacing his fingers through it. He leaned his upper body down to give her another kiss on the mouth, but she nudged him before he got there. "Veronica..." he said. He sounded hesitant. What was his fucking problem? First the lovey-dovey shit and now, what, he was going to tell her no?

She rotated her hips forward a little and shifted her legs, reminding him that she could feel him pressed against her and clearly ready to go. He exhaled sharply, letting out almost a growl-like sound at her. "Are you okay?" he asked. He was hoping she said yes; he couldn't even imagine how much his day would suck if she suddenly backed out, but he wouldn't push her if she did. He just really hoped she didn't.

She nodded and spoke simultaneously. "I'm good," she breathed. "Do it."

He released her fingers and reached for something, but Veronica caught his hand. "Not this time," she told him. "It'll be fine."

Whoa. He stopped for a second, and but his hand remained where it was with her own clamped down on his wrist. "I don't think that's such a good idea," he said slowly. She was half his age. She wasn't a gold-digger or trying to nest, but she'd never stopped him from trying to use protection before, and as far as he knew, she wasn't on any sort of birth control.

"Please?" she whined.

"Hey, slow down," Lamb said softly. He couldn't stop himself from asking, and even as he said it, he knew it was going to cause a fight. You didn't ask questions like "What's gotten in to you?" to a volatile girl in your bed without getting more than you bargained for.

Veronica realized that he was on to her, that some of her crazy had bled over into the real world, and recovered as quickly as she could. She leaned up slowly, pressing as much of her body against his as she could. "Just this once," she whispered into his ear. That was it. No yelling or fighting; she just rubbed her nose against his ear and whispered, her voice sweet and pleading. The way she said it was so...

_God damn it, I am going to regret this_, he thought to himself. "Just this once," he agreed. He'd pull out before he went. They'd be fine. Not one of his brighter moments, he knew, but she wouldn't let this go, and he could tell from how she was trying to persuade him. With his confirmation had, he felt one of her hands drop beneath the blankets, and as he re-positioned himself over her, she wrapped her fingers around him, guiding the tip of him into her.

It was _very_ different without a condom. Don hadn't always been the best guy, and in college when he played football, he'd made some dumber choices, but none of them had been like this. He had no idea why he'd agreed to this with Veronica. He trusted her; that had to have been it. He trusted her not to be stupid. When was it that he had started looking to _her_ for a good decision? Of course, she seemed to have been losing control with her life, and when they'd originally started having sex, he could tell that she had an issue with it, and that it was a way to regain it. But this – she finally trusted _him_, maybe?

Veronica gasped when she felt him initially, but she knew it wasn't over yet. The disadvantage in this area was definitely on her end – she was younger, inexperienced, and petite. Lamb trying not to _hurt_ her was always an uphill battle for the first few minutes of their lovemaking – no, _sex_ – and there really wasn't any good way around it, except to just hold on and endure until the pain changed to pleasure. He tried to go in slowly, but Veronica reached out and put her hands on his lower back. She rolled her hips forward and thrust, simultaneously pushing down on him. It was unexpected on her end, and Don went with it because he was terrified that fighting it would be worse.

The sound she made when he was all the way in was almost nauseating. Some days (or nights) were better than others – sometimes she'd have a drink while she was waiting for him to come home, or she'd have so much energy that it didn't matter, but some days she'd say it didn't hurt and he could feel the tears rolling down her temples. The sound she'd just made was like someone had just cut off all of her air, and he didn't want to move for a moment until she released that breath she'd taken in when she'd cried out.

One of her hands was clamped over her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her body was wrecked with a single sob as she struggled not to burst into tears. What the fuck was _wrong_ with her? Did she hate herself so much? She split her fingers apart and exhaled a shaking breath. Her entire body was trembling with pain and emotions she couldn't sort out.

"Are you -" he began.

"Please," she finally managed, her voice an incredibly strained whisper. Thankfully, he listened to her, and slowly began thrusting himself in and out of her narrow canal. With every stroke he went a little further down, trying to be gentle until her soft cries went from the pain portion to the pleasure one. It was something she couldn't fake, but eventually they turned around, and her terrible shaking began to subside. He took his opportunity then to go in all the way, now that her body was cooperating properly and he had virtually no friction. When he did, she arched her back and made a sound he was pretty sure he'd never heard from her before.

He did it again, and she cried out even louder. "Oh, my _god_," she whispered. Veronica wasn't the type to make a lot of noise during sex, at least, not the unnecessary kind like pornstars did. No, getting her to make noise was an accomplishment; a reward, because she was so reserved. Trust and control issues, of course. Normally at this point, Veronica would throw him off of her and jump on top of him, but whatever spot he'd hit was evidently doing the trick, because instead of trying to move him around, she leaned forward again and told him not to stop.

Actually, she whispered, _Don't stop_, in her husky, soft voice, all of the fear and pain and anything else she had gone from it. She let go of him and fell back towards the pillows beneath her, but he caught her before she was able to meet it, wrapping his arms around her. He squeezed her so tightly that Veronica thought he might cut her air off, but in a way it made the sex better. Her breathing was done in small, hurried gasps of air, the occasional moan thrown his way.

"Oh, my god," she said again, this time slightly more audibly. He felt comfortable enough to pick up the pace, and when he did Veronica's voice only became more clear. "Lamb, please don't stop," she said, not so much a whisper now as it was just an incredibly breathy request. He had to be honest, it felt so good that he couldn't imagine stopping any time soon, but he had to have been doing something effectively, because she told him not to stop twice more, and then – well.

Veronica had found a good rhythm with Don, and with every stroke she came closer to climaxing. She could feel it building in her toes and in the tips of her fingers. Her breaths became a steady mixture of girlish gasps and moans, and her hands wandered from holding his face as she kissed him to pulling his hair between her fingers, to tracing her nails along his back and sides.

Don realized something as she kept whispering for him not to stop – he was getting close to climaxing himself. He was pretty sure that he could hold out, but he wanted to stop and get a condom anyways. The last thing he needed was to knock her up – she already hated him, but he didn't want to even think about what her father would do. He didn't want to think about what Keith Mars would do if he knew that Donald Lamb had been having sex with her for months now, let alone had gotten her pregnant.

"Oh, GOD," she cried suddenly. She dug her nails down into his back so hard that he cried out, bucking her hips into his with more force than someone her size should have had. Her small cries built up with their more forceful movements, until she _yelled_ and arched her back almost enough to lift him up. At the same time, he had cried out as well, tightening his hold on her while she clawed the living shit out of him.

She collapsed down on the bed, blonde hair matted with sweat and splayed across the pillows like some sort of painting. He fell on top of her breathing just as heavily, his head buried into the crook of her shoulder. He hadn't even caught his breath back when he began kissing her – her shoulders, her arms, her chest, neck, cheeks, lips – everything he could get to from there.

"Don," she said, putting a hand up. "Come on, you're crushing me," she pleaded.

He moved off of her, ignoring the obvious mess they were going to have. He still hadn't told her – even though it would have been hard _not_ to know that he had finished. It needed to be said. He couldn't believe how sweaty he was. Judging by how his lips tasted of salt, she was, too. "Shower?" he asked.

Veronica cringed. "If you have warm water," she conditioned him, even though he couldn't see the funny facial expression she wore in the dark.

"Of course," he said. "Pipes again?" It ticked him off to know that she was having to suffer through cold showers when the problem should have been fixed. "I bet I could fix it." He stood up, walking stark to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. The steam billowed out of the bathroom door almost instantly, and Veronica squinted at the sudden light. It was nearly noon outside, but his room was completely dark thanks to well-made curtains.

"No, you couldn't," she said pointedly. She rose as well, gliding in behind him. She looked almost like she wanted to cuddle up to him, but she hesitated for whatever reason, and he didn't push it. He pretended instead to not notice, and stuck his hand out to test the water.

"Come on," he said, choosing to ignore her rebuff about the pipes. Of course he couldn't just go there and fix them. Why had he even opened his mouth? "It's nice and warm. If you're good I'll wash your back," he tempted. Playing house was fucking with his head.

Veronica stared at him for a second, and then stepped over the guard for the door into the hot water, closing her eyes as it ran down her body. The idea of him washing her back, like a – like a boyfriend – it was so bizarre. She felt like she was in the Twilight Zone or something, but when she felt the soft, scratchy sensation of a washcloth and lathery soap between her shoulder blades, she caught herself moaning again. She rolled her head forward and put her arms up on the shower wall, resting her forehead on them.

"So she _can_ be tamed," he teased.

"Hey, do _not_ push your luck," she warned him, a hand holding up an index finger and shaking it. "I'm just _thoroughly_ exhausted now and that feels amazing." She was too worn to try and sort through everything. From crying and fear and pain to pleasure and even release, she was thoroughly out of emotions she could spare. She nearly fell asleep when he was scrubbing, and came around only when he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down.

"Hey, you ready to get out?" he asked. He was worried she was going to pass out for a second. "Come on, here," he said gently. He cut the water and grabbed a towel from the other side of the door, wrapping it around her. "Come on," he coaxed again, as she closed her eyes for a brief moment. He ended up scooping her up and carrying her to the bed, where he found her panties by the light of the lamp and slid them back up her legs. When she thought she'd been raped, she'd woken up without her underwear on. When she'd tried to tell him, he'd –

He just knew that when she woke up, she liked to have them on.

He curled up next to her, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could bring himself to do. She was already down for the count, breathing slow and steady. He pressed his forehead to hers, giving her the lightest kiss on the forehead. God, he'd made some fucking stupid mistakes in his life, especially where she was concerned, but he couldn't help like feeling that this had been the worst of all. Why had he let this girl in? He hadn't really cared one way or the other about her at first; the prospect of steamy hate-sex had appealed to him. And yet now, as he looked down at her sleeping form, he couldn't imagine what it would be like without her.

If Veronica thought that _she_ was scared and confused, she'd never have guessed what was going on in Sheriff Lamb's mind right then. "Sleep well, Little Bit," he whispered. He kissed her again, and then closed his own eyes, letting sleep overtake him.


	3. The Truth

I did not create any of these characters. This takes place after season one, during the senior high school year. This is written under the pretenses that the crash did not happen, so some of the events are different. Read, review, and send love!

03

When Veronica awoke, there were two things that occurred to her near-simultaneously. One was that she was well-covered by blankets, and that Don was asleep next to her, arms around her almost possessively (protectively? No, definitely possessively) and two, that she had her panties on. She actually had a moment where she alternated between the strongest sensations of love and the most horrifying hatred, holding her hand firmly over her mouth as her eyes spilled over with tears. What was WRONG with him? Why did he DO THIS? She finally choked out a loud sob, curling her entire body into the fetal position and bending her arms at the elbows, using her forearms to cover her face as though she were being attacked.

Lamb awoke with a start. He didn't remember what he'd even been dreaming, but it wasn't anything important compared to the scene he woke up with. Veronica was crying her eyes out, arms defensively over her face like a fighter. For a second he thought he'd hit her in his sleep, but he realized that his arms were still on either side of her waist, and aside from some minor adjustments, he hadn't moved much in the last few hours.

"Veronica, what's wrong? What happened?" His voice wasn't loud, but it was terse; concerned. He had essentially opened his eyes to see her broken apart and it scared the shit out of him, because it had happened under his watch, so to speak, and he hadn't been able to prevent it.

She just shook her head 'no' and cried harder, curling even more into a ball.

'No, no, no," he said softly. He turned the light on, but Veronica made a loud noise of protest and he turned it back off again. "Okay, okay, it's off," he said, rubbing her back with one hand while he tried to sit up more. "I won't turn it back on, okay?"

This went on for a few minutes, Don literally pulling the entire inventory of shit in his head to try and determine why she was so upset. She, sadly, had plenty of reasons to be that way. Still, he realized he didn't care which of the hundred it was, he wanted to know. "Honey, please, please tell me what set you off?" he pleaded, trying to pull her arms away gently.

"Why do you remember?" she cried, voice warbling through her sobs. "Why do you remember the details of things I say? Why do you use them against me? Why do you hate me _so much_ that you constantly fuck with me, even when I haven't done _anything_ but try to stay on your good side?" Her voice had gone to a desperate begging tone, and he could feel that she sat up some so that she could level herself with him.

"Veronica, what are you -"

"Fuck, Christ – the RAPE, Donald," she blurted, using his full name. "I told you – I told you two years ago what happened, and you laughed me out of your office. We never, ever talked about it again, and now after you're done with me, you put my panties back on me? Is that some sort of sick joke? Do you like having a hand in making me go crazy?"

She spoke in a high-pitched whinny, and he had to reach out to stop her from taking a handful each of hair at the root and ripping it out, which seemed to be on pair with how she sounded. Sure enough, he grabbed her just before she managed to get hold of a thick enough patch of hair to yank out. What was it with this girl and hair? The things she said, though, made him feel like he was going to be physically ill.

"No," he said, voice as firm as he could make it. "God, no, I'm not trying to drive you crazy – why would you _think_ that?" he demanded.

"Because," she blurted. "Because, you've hated me from day one. Everything I did, every step of the way, you were there to cut me down. I don't even know why, but that was just so, god, MEAN," she said, at a loss for a better modifier. "It was cruel, and now it's like you're trying to – I don't know, make sure that when I wake up I can't say, 'Oh, well, I guess it must have been consensual, my undies are still on!'"

"WHOA," he yelled. He didn't yell often, because his father liked to yell, and he was a lot more effective at just being a general bastard to get things done, but that – the shit she'd said – that warranted some good old-fashioned man-yelling. He didn't know what to say after it, but now that he had her attention, it gave him a chance to think. "I knew that you said when you woke up, you didn't have your underwear on," he said slowly. "I know that sometimes you wake up here and this is all _really_ not orthodox, and you don't always know when you'll be here, or it's so late or early when you wake up that you don't even know where you are, but when you wake up you won't think that you're repeating that party. I did it because I didn't want you to wake up and - "

"And what?" she screamed.

"And ever feel that way again," he finished, teeth practically bared at her.

She was silent for a few moments, and then she spoke again. This time, it was very softly, as though she was praying that he had some good answer for her. She was prepared to believe anything he could tell her, as long as it sounded convincing. Any reason that he could give, at all. "What about when I came to you that morning to report the rape?" she asked.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He'd thought many times about how it could have gone differently once he'd started seeing Veronica like this. Before, he had never cared, and even in the beginning he hadn't cared. In fact, until very recently he was still sorting things out with himself, but it was pretty clear that he felt something now, and hiding it at this point was not an option.

"I have no good answer for you," he admitted. "I wish I did, but I don't. It was your word against theirs, and I'd have been hit by so many yelling parents over it that it wouldn't have even had a point to it." He hung his head. For once, _he_ felt dirty.

She started to cry again, and pulled away from him. "You were supposed to _protect_ me," she reminded him, her voice laced with pain. She was off of the bed, stumbling to find her clothes.

That remark cut him pretty deeply, and he jumped up after her, turning the lamp back on. Fuck what she wanted; he had open forum now and he was upset. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there, but I don't understand why you're bringing this party stuff up now, when us arguing about it can't change anything," he said, pointing at the ground. He wasn't yelling now, but he was... easy to hear. "I can spend the rest of my life making it up to you, but it won't change what happened."

"Not the party," she said, shaking her head violently. "The night that Seann Fitzpatrick attacked me." She stopped with one pant-leg of her jeans on to look Don in the eyes. "I told you something was going to happen. I _told_ you, and you told me to go home and not to worry. You said everything would be fine and it wasn't fine. It _wasn't fine_, Donnie. I wasn't fine."

"You weren't supposed to be ALONE!" he countered. He paced around the room like an angry large cat. "Logan was outside of the station to pick you up! I said everything was going to be fine because that idiot was supposed to take you home! You were never supposed - " He caught up for a second, and closed his eyes. "You were never supposed to have left alone," was what he eventually stated, firmly.

Veronica's mouth opened and then closed. "Logan was supposed to... No, when I went outside he told me that you said you were taking me home. He left, and I waited outside for a while, and then I started to walk." She trailed off. She couldn't believe that he would do something like that to her. Hell, she couldn't believe that Lamb had told him not to leave her alone.

He sat down on the bed, a very strange expression on his face. She'd never actually seen that look before; or, no. She had, but it was only once and she'd been younger. His eyes looked like they were on fire, almost. He seemed to drift into space, lips pursed as he tapped his fingertips on his chin, like he was assessing details she could not see.

She stopped trying to get dressed and sat next to him. "It was a lie?" she asked hesitantly.

He looked back at her, and his expression was sad, but it looked like he was trying to keep it blank and failed. "It seems so." He took her hand. "You were never supposed to be there that nigh. Logan was supposed to have taken you home, though it's my fault I didn't see him through on it. I failed you, and I'm sorry. I don't intend for it to happen again," he warned her.

Veronica pressed her lips together tightly. Was he playing at some game? He seemed utterly serious – but like that, he could flip the switch, and then it would go away and he'd be his old, evil self again. How did she know which version of him she was getting? The truth was, she didn't. She'd have to trust him, and she'd have to keep trusting him. It was one thing to have a fling with the guy, but to actually believe the things he told her – different ball game.

She pushed her pants back off of her legs and kicked them to the edge of the bed, shifting to her knees so that she was more eye level with him. "If you let me down," she began. She didn't finish, because she didn't have to. He already had his finger to her lip, shaking his head.

"I won't," he said. Then he replaced that finger with his lips, giving her a chaste kiss. He ran his hands through her blonde hair, focusing his blue-green eyes on her. No, he wouldn't let her down. He didn't know how he wasn't going to fuck this up, but he was going to try and make it last for as long as he could before he did.

She eventually laid back down, allowing him to pull the blankets up over them, and rolled over so that she could press her back against his chest and cuddle. He wrapped his hands around her waist, and she placed her hands on top of his, closing her eyes and catching a brief moment of peace.


	4. Seeking

He'd been PLANNING on taking her to Las Vegas over the long weekend, but after she'd found out that the entire reason she'd ended up blowing a hole through Seann Fitzpatrick's chest was because the ex-boyfriend that she loved so much had left her alone on purpose, Veronica's mood had dropped and it stayed down. She was currently on the couch, eyes vacant and fixed on a rerun of Arrested Development as Don stood in the kitchen. He was making dinner, and he felt bad about it while he did it.

Her appetite had been gone all day. True, they'd slept until three or four in the afternoon, but she usually stuffed her face right when she woke up. In fact, Veronica was pretty much guaranteed to always have some sort of food with her; it was just what she did. She was like a fat kid in the body of a Pixie. However, ever since she'd been bomb-dropped after their risque lovemaking session – and could he even call it lovemaking, or would she freak out of she knew that? - she'd just been... quiet.

He swirled the steak around in the pan, looking at the tiny portion he'd cut for her. She'd probably eat the salad at least, and she would inevitably have Twizzlers later with the popcorn he'd gotten for the movie they'd been planning to watch, so – he frowned. He was literally standing in the kitchen, stressing about what his not-girlfriend was or wasn't eating. He looked up at her from around the corner, tilting his head a little. She was so absorbed in the show, she didn't even seem to really notice anything going on around her. It was probably for the best.

This was going to be a long weekend if she was going to be bummed out for the entire duration of it. He figured he'd surprise her with her Christmas present that night at least and make it worth her while.

"Hey, dinner's ready!" he called, trapped in front of the sink as he tried to quickly wash all of the pans he used before they ended up growing hair on them. He didn't hear a response, but when he turned around, she was smiling with a bowl of salad in her hand. He only didn't jump because he was awesome.

"Thanks," she said. She rewarded him with a light kiss on the lips, one that progressed momentarily into something deeper, and then she pulled away and went to the table to sit down. She brought the silverware and other odds and ends over while he tried to finish what he was doing, and then they both sat down to an _actual_ dinner.

"This is a pretty nice change of pace, deputy," she said with a grin as she looked at him from across the table. "Better than takeout by miles."

He smiled back at her. "You're never going to stop calling me deputy, are you?'

"Haven't we been over this? I'll stop on the First of Nevuary," she retorted, biting into a carrot slice. She ate the majority of her salad, and some of the steak, but when she set the plate down by the sink, there was still a lot left. Enough that it warranted Don to double-check with her.

"You don't want me to throw some Saran wrap over this so you can have it tomorrow?' he asked, brow quirked. He didn't care either way, but he didn't want to toss it and then catch hell for it in six hours.

"Oh, no," she said, cracking open a Diet Sunkist. "I'm fine. I'm just – you know, no appetite today."

He stared at her for a long moment, even after she'd already turned back around to finish wiping down the counter for him. If he didn't see her resume her normal eating habits by Sunday, he'd bring it up again. Until then, he didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

Veronica leaned her head against his shoulder as they watched the Amityville Horror. It was freaking her out enough to make her not want the Twizzlers and the popcorn, though she did chew on half of one before discarding it when she went to get some water halfway through. Her mind was still swimming; she felt numb. All of that talking that had happened, and she'd turned into a zombie. She was there, but not there. She just kept replaying the night in question over and over again, trying to search for different outcomes.

She'd walked home. She'd cut through the alley by the video store. Seann had grabbed her, accused her of helping PCH steal... whatever, and then he'd pulled a gun on her. Veronica was not really happy about how much physical danger she kept being thrown into, and at that moment, she'd been especially displeased. A passing random biker had caused Seann to get distracted enough for her to hit him, and fight him for that gun. She hadn't wanted to shoot him, but he just... ran at her.

Eli had ended up taking her home that night, because Logan was MIA and Sheriff Lamb was covering the murder. There had been a lot of questions, most of which centered around why Veronica was in an alley with him in the first place. Lamb had backed her up, though, at least enough to keep her out of trouble. He was still awful to her when they spoke.

He leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek and she smiled up at him. She didn't know what she was going to do with this new information now that she had it. If he'd already done something about Logan, she didn't know about it, although his arrest record had gotten higher recently. She wondered if Wallace knew. She'd need to tell him the next time she saw him.

She must have fallen asleep, because she woke up in bed, wrapped up in Don's arms again. She couldn't see anything, because it was totally dark in the room – as usual – but it didn't stop her from tracing her index finger lightly along his jaw, lips, and ears. She loved the way his skin felt; the way he smelled, the way he sounded like he might snore and then didn't. She didn't know when it was that she'd fallen in love with him, or if it was real, since she had so much that needed to be sorted out, but she'd keep it in consideration for any future points in time.

Veronica pulled away from him slowly, and stole into the darkness of his house, wrapping his robe around herself as she did so. She needed to get as far away from his room as possible, and she needed to cover her tracks when she did it. She slipped something out of her purse, and then went quietly onto the back porch, closing the door behind her. She dialed out with her phone, and then dropped it into the pocket of the robe – the bluetooth would do the rest for her.

After a few rings, Weevil picked up. "Hey girl, don't you know how much ass I beat for people callin' me at – what time is it? Whatever, I was asleep. This better be good," he said, voice laden with a tired echo of someone who'd been very happily dosing.

Veronica laughed, and it was a bitter sound. "You remember the night Seann Fitzpatrick died?" she asked.

Weevil rolled over in his bed, foot tangling in some bedsheets and kicking them away violently. What the hell did his grandmother have the heat set to, anyways? "Oh," he said with a laugh. "Let's not be modest, Miss Mars. You mean the night you blew a hole through his chest?"

Veronica's entire demeanor iced over and she sat down in a chair at the table on the porch, lighting a cigarette. She took one drag off of it, making an _awful_ face, and only didn't cough because she held it in. She held it between her fingertips while she contemplated how to cut Weevil down to size, but in the end, she just laughed a little humorlessly at his comment.

"You remember seeing Logan?" she asked, narrowing her eyes a little into the darkness.

"Wait, why you bringin' all this up now, V? Not only is it late, but that was a while ago, and honestly, I ain't thought much about nothin' since then," he confessed.

"What would you say if I told you that Logan was supposed to have brought me home that night, and he left me at the station house to walk?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral. Didn't want to inspire a reaction in him just yet; she'd rather wait and see how it played out.

"_Que_?" he asked. Weevil sat up in his bed. The fallout from the shooting had left his girl Veronica in a very delicate state, one he was a little more aware of than the rest of the idiots she knew. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. She braved another drag off of the cigarette, but she almost gagged. "Someone could have told Seann I'd be walking home. Someone could have tipped him off – but someone also could have told Logan to leave me. Or, if there's no conspiracy theory, Logan really just was the cause of one of the most traumatic incidents in my life. Oh, wait, no, that'd be two," she mused aloud, her voice icy and calm.

"And what does your boytoy say about this?" he asked. He had a little hint of smug in his voice.

"Logan doesn't know. I haven't said anything to him yet. I called _you_ when I couldn't sleep," she said matter-of-factly.

Weevil nodded, a doubtful laugh unsuppressed as he reached for the glass of water on his bedside table. "Veronica, tell me somethin' – what business you got out there off of Greenbriar and 57th?" he asked her. He was using his 'I already know but I want you to tell me' voice.

Veronica's eyes widened, and she put the cigarette out in the ash tray. "No idea what you mean," she said, tone calm. The problem with lying to Eli Navarro was that he was skillfully manipulative as well, but in his own way. He ruled through physical pain and fear, but he still knew when she was lying, because he could hear it in her voice.

"Now, I checked all those addresses out, 'cause I have it on good word that you're up there an awful lot. At first I thought to myself, 'Well, she's done and started using cocaine', like the rest of the normal 09ers," he began. "And imagine _my_ surprise when I found out who lived in that area. So, Veronica," he said, his voice as cool as ever, "stop tryin' to play me like I'm one of your little fan club."

She laughed, her defense mechanism of making jokes with a light tone kicking in. "Aw, Weevil, I thought you were the president of the V-Mars fan club!" she said sweetly.

"Naw, but I bet ol' boy Lamb would love to take that position – if he hasn't already, I mean," Eli said with a harsh laugh.

Veronica was so mad for a split second, she almost lost her cool and just started hammering at Weevil with anything she could, but she saw a light from the kitchen flick on. "One second," she said quietly.

On the other end, Weevil indicated he'd heard her only by a coarse laugh. "I'm goin' to the bathroom. I'll be right back." She heard his phone hit the bedside table with a clunk and the faint rustling sound of him getting out of bed.

She ran her hands through her hair, causing it to fall over the earpiece she had, which was facing away from the door anyways, and put her hand on the table, the small blue Bic lighter resting under her fingertips. The sliding glass door opened, and Don stuck his head out, a groggy, confused expression on his face.

"Hey, what are you doing out here?" he asked. He looked at the table as his eyes focused and made a face at the lighter. "Oh, gross. Is this a new habit?" he asked, wrinkling his nose up at her.

She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "Me and Lilly tried it once before, you know? Smoking. Sometimes when I think of her I'll light one up, but I don't think I know how to smoke, so I just end up choking and putting it out. Pretty stupid, huh?" she said. What she'd told him was true, but in this instance it had been a cover for the reason she was outside in the first place. Regardless, she knew a sentimental story would cease his questions rather quickly.

"Can't you be an alcoholic like the normal people?" he asked. He stepped out onto the smooth patio surface and leaned over to give her a kiss on the top of the head. "I'm going back to bed. Take as long as you want." He turned around and went back to the door, but before he closed it, he turned back around and gave her a funny look.

"You _sure_ you're okay?" he asked, squinting a little at her.

"I'm fine, _dear_. Go back to bed," she said, a smile breaking on her face. She didn't like lying when he was being so genuine, but that was just how she operated. She'd screamed at him earlier and caused him to cough up all of the things he'd been holding back, and now suddenly she was using her charm to keep him at arm's length. At least when he was horrible, he was honest. Veronica smiled as she lied, and she wasn't sure which was worse.

He went back inside and left her alone, but Eli had picked up the phone sometime before then and heard the exchange in its entirety. "Awwww, that is too cute," he cooed at Veronica, setting back down.

"Shut up," she snapped. "It isn't what you think it is."

"Well, you don't know what I think it is, so you really can't say that for sure, can you now, Barbie?" he said with a teasing tone. "But I'll be sure to bring this up later. For now, I need to get my beauty rest, so if you would like to tell me the reason you called, at any point in this conversation..."

"I need to know if someone told Seann that I'd be walking home that night," she said. Her voice had gone back to that scary calm it did when she was hunting for answers. She shifted in her chair, looking back up at the door, but there was no movement from inside the house, and she turned back to look at the yard.

"Why do you always ask for me to find out shit that's like, impossible to know?" he exclaimed, rubbing his hand over his freshly-shaved head. "It's like you enjoy watching me work."

"Because you have a way of making people talk," she said coyly.

"Fine, I'll try. You owe me," he informed her.

"I owe you?' she asked with a laugh.

"Uh, yeah, I'd say so," he retorted. "Or I'll just have to let everyone know that the ol' Sheriff can count on your vote next election campaign."

Veronica narrowed her eyes again. "Did you just threaten me?" she asked, her voice light while she attempted to reign in her rage.

"Nah," he said happily. "But consider it insurance the next time I get my ass in legal trouble helpin' you out. Better let your boy know Eli Navarro has a get out of jail free card now," he added with a triumphant laugh. "I'll call you later."

The phone went dead. Veronica pulled her earpiece out and slipped it back into the pocket of the robe, along with the lighter. She went back inside and put them both into her purse, then went to wash her face, hands, and re-brush her teeth. Something about waking up in the middle of the night always made her compulsively brush as it was; add a cigarette to that – or, two drags of one, anyways – and it was like a recipe for a sound cleansing.

She crawled back into bed after discarding the robe, leaving a gap between she and the sleeping man. She didn't really want to be cuddled right now. She was feeling hungry from the poor excuse for a meal she'd eaten, but she didn't really want to make the effort to get back up and go back into the kitchen, so she rolled onto her side and stared into the darkness. The clock counted minutes and hours before she finally fell asleep.

She dreamed of falling into the ocean, and when she woke up, it was eight AM and Don was gone.


End file.
